Key: B minor
Verse 1
Am
D
Am
D
Check,
D
Am
D
check, check
Harlem, diss set, writer's block
Where we at, uh?
The writers dig it if I gotta spit it
My rhymes and lyrics out of space
I make one call, you guys are finished
Blow your brains all over your office
How could you ignore the beat?
What you do that
I'm saluted when I walk the street
it if you talkin' sweet
Hundred dollar gun in your mouth,
Better warn the creep,
I ain't with procrastinatin'
How I leave him shakin',
It ain't my fault that damn
Mary straggled datin'
Want me to come pat her on the back
Nathan, I be stupid with them lyrics
These scoobies is the sickest,
I can do it with the biggest
Why?
Cause the only way you kill a track
is if you shot the producer
while he did it
What about it?
I be cooler than some fridges
Fridges
Admit it I'm hot,
but my jewelry looking fridges
Shit, even my jeweler couldn't get it
Why's that?
I'm buried in,
now you gotta pull me off this blizzard
Damn
Seize it and make it stylish,
come to me for advice
Right
Check out my swagger, miss
If this was a movie,
Snap a pic, before I speed
off in an action whip
Action chick,
my pockets greener than asparagus
Am
D
I be with the bastard clique
That barely miss shit,
That's the casket, quick,
they ain't with the petty gimmicks
Like a gymnast on a beam,
At any minute, they squeeze and
won't leave any witness
They'll sit the box under a tree,
Happy New Year's,
the truth's here, who cares?
When they hear that you there,
all they say is who cares?
if these little guys get fly
D
D
Am
Writers block, we ride or die, la da da
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TunerE A D G B E
ChordsAm D
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